I stare, unblinking. He was married and now Amanda is gone. The woman who wrote the note in his pocket is dead. The grave is old. There’s no freshly turned soil, no indications of a recent funeral. Her death must have been years ago. Sean was much younger then, barely twenty by the look of him. I glance at the headstone again. There’s only one name. Where’s the baby? The lump in my throat grows as I think about what might have happened to them, about what horrors Sean had to have seen to render him the person standing next to me.
Every time I think I know what’s going on, everything falls apart. I feel the anger and disappointment fracture. That wall I forced up around my heart shatters as it falls away. I reach for Sean’s gloved hand and weave our fingers together. Sean lets me. We both stand there, staring, saying nothing.
Sometimes there is nothing to say.
After a few moments, he turns to me glassy-eyed. Sean’s jaw is tense, like he’s ready to bite someone’s head off. His eyes move over my sweats and then return to my face. The wind picks up my hair and throws it over my eyes and mouth. Before I can move my hand to push it back, Sean does it for me. His eyes meet mine and he stares. I can feel him struggling to come back from the dark places in the back of his mind. I see it in his eyes and I know he can see the darkness in mine.
Part of me wants to shut down and push him out. I can’t take what life is throwing at me. The sick part of the whole thing is that there’s a squeaky voice in the back of my head that won’t let me just lie down and die. She never gives up, even when she’s had her ass handed to her time and time again.
Sean looks down at my hand and then back at my face. His voice is soft, careful. “Take me to meet them.” There’s a question in his words, like I have the option to say no. We watch each other carefully. Finally, I nod. I pull him onto the path and we walk back to my parent’s grave in silence.
When I stop in front of them, I say, “This is Sean.” I smile sadly and squeeze his hand. Sean squeezes back. We both stare at the head stone for a moment and say nothing. Finally, I say, “My mom would have liked you. She would have said you were too skinny and tried to stuff an unreasonable about of food down your throat.” The thought makes me smile. She was like that, always trying to fatten my friends up.
A ghost of a smile passes over his lips. “What about your Dad?”
I smile. “Oh, he’d hate your guts. I’m sure of it.”
Sean looks surprised and seriously amused. “And why is that?”
“Because you have heartbreaker written all over you. Daddy would see you coming from a mile away. He would have told you that he’d break every bone in your body if you hurt me.” I smile thinking about it. Daddy always said it teasingly when I brought a guy home, but there was a current of truth there. He wanted to keep me safe and that meant keeping my heart in one piece. Right now my heart has broken so badly that all that is remains is dust.
The smile slips off my lips. Sean watches me. He knows what I’m thinking. It’s almost like he feels the weight of the memory the same way I do. I flick my eyes to the headstone. “They got blindsided that night. So did I.”
“I know what you mean.” His voice is somber, deep. He adds, “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” Sean says my words back to me, but they seem to have new meaning, like the old adage is a lie and we’re the only ones who know the truth.
I nod slowly. “The thing is—I’m not stronger. I feel like I’m half dead, barely hanging on. Most days, I go through the motions, hoping the next day will be better. Then, some days bitch-slap me so hard that it feels like that night all over again.” As I speak, I stare at nothing. I see nothing. The memories from that night flash through my mind. I shiver and shake it away, refusing to relive the horror again.
“And today was one of those days?” Sean says it so casually, but it’s as if he knows the turmoil that he caused me. I feel his eyes on the side of my face, but I don’t look up. I just stare straight ahead. He sighs and looks past the tree toward his wife’s grave. “Last night, something you did stirred up a memory. I couldn’t repress it. That’s why I left. I didn’t mean to be cruel to you. I’d take it back if I could, Avery.”
Sean’s words should make me feel elated, but the heaviness is too great. His remorse, the pain in his voice strums through me and resonates. I know that feeling. Anything can conjure a memory—a song, a scent, a touch. I glance over at him. “I know you would.”
There are more words to say, but neither of us says them. Death has fucked us both up to the point that we’re barely functioning.